


fair warning

by PersephoneHemingway



Series: spyglass//gunmetal [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Assassins & Hitmen, Bond!Reader, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Crossover, Domestic, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Headcanon, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Mentor/Protégé, Reader-Insert, Self-Indulgent, Spies & Secret Agents, Swearing, The Family Business
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-28 13:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20779499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneHemingway/pseuds/PersephoneHemingway
Summary: bond's daughter ends up with john wick as a mentor, and bond doesn't find out until he sees them at the continental





	1. suspect

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a hoe for spies and father/daughter reader-inserts so ta-da

You were supposed to be at university.

Bond taught you how to defend yourself, but you knew he didn't want you in the life.

He would always tell you "I'll come back to you, okay?"

And after too many nights of worrying after those words, from your childhood through your coming of age, you needed something in the night to pass your time.

The cookie-cutter civilian waiting game wasn’t cutting it.

You’ve seen your father’s injuries, you’d heard the stories of the infamous _James Bond_, _007_.

You’d been threatened and kidnapped enough times throughout your life to know there were people who wanted you dead that had never even seen your face—and you knew that anyone who would target a laughing ten-year old in pigtails on a playground after school could do much, much worse.

You figured you’d take a shot at it.

So sometime after your eighteenth birthday, a series of coincidences over several years unfolded that led you to an underworld sanctuary and one of the greatest assassins of all time—John Wick himself.

You’d managed to find the only killer with a name as well-known as your father’s.

And for some reason, he let you stick around.

He never asked questions when you’d started appearing in the same places as him, and eventually it became so routine that he usually waited up for you.

It was something like the mercenary equivalent of hanging around an office until you were hired—you were around, and it didn’t bother him, so you became something of John Wick’s apprentice.

You never lost contact with your father—the two of you always checked in with each other intermittently. You had just developed a habit of never saying exactly what you meant.

And that's how your text update of _‘I’m going out with a friend in New York,’_ turned into a run-in with your father at the Continental.

Black velvet clung to you as a second skin, and you were certainly showing plenty enough of it already. Your lips were devil red, and you were leaned over the concierge counter next to John who was exchanging coin for key.

“_(Y/N),”_ Your head snapped back fast—Bond’s was a hard voice to forget, especially growing up with it, and there weren’t many people in the Continental who would’ve known your name on sight.

“_Da-“_

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” He was _furious_.

“I ah, I’m here on business.”

"God, (Y/N), I thought I told you not to get involved with this!"

"No, you told me not to join MI6. You never said anything about.. freelancing."

"Freelancing! Is that what you call this!? And with _him_!?"

"Hey, don't take this out on John! You’ve got a reputation too, you know!"

"(Y/N), there is no way out of this now, you understand that right? It will never stop. The killing will never stop. You've brought yourself into this. You're with the _Baba Yaga_ for god's sake! He knows better than anyone there's no way out. How many times have you retired, Wick?"

"Not enough, apparently."

"Dad. I can handle this. I'm good at it. Nothing else would be—I can't sit still. I'd never be satisfied."

"And you think this life will _satisfy_ you?"

"Of course not, I'm not that dense! But it'll keep me occupied. If I have to be alive, I might as well _feel_ alive. Not much else can make you feel more alive than a brush with death."

"I tried. I really tried to keep you from this, (Y/N)."

"I know. And I'm sorry. It would've worked, maybe, if I were anyone else."

A deep sigh. "Stay safe out there, kid. And don't give me a reason to have to take you out. I would really rather not."

"Yeah. I wouldn't. I'll avoid it."

"You might not be able to. You say that now, but you need to understand ties change fast. You do what needs to be done."

You frowned. You knew he was probably right. You didn't like it.

"Okay. Then, well, I'll give you fair warning."

"That, I'll take your word on."

An uneasy smile. You hesitated, then threw your arms around your father. You whispered.

"I'll come back to you sometime, okay?"

The echo of his own words would've choked up a more emotional man. Instead, he nodded into your embrace.

Your face still at his back, James looked to John with a question in his eyes.

_She really is good?_

He answered.

_Better than you'd think. Better than you remember._

James nodded and released you, both turning back to John.

He held out his hand.

"Good hunting, Bond."

"You take care of my daughter, Wick."

They shook hands.

"I'll see what I can do."

You scoffed and took the room key to the elevator, John following just behind you.


	2. fairy tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wick hurries home to protect his girl, but she's got it taken care of. cue him learning her name. (prequel to ch 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a retcon w/ ms. reader's background if you squint, but recent edits should've closed some holes  
the drabble just fits way better here in this cluster vs. on its own so, *shrug emoji*

The first time you met John Wick was an accident.

The next few times you met, you made _look_ like accidents.

Now, you shared his bed more often than not between your training and underworld odd jobs.

It was hard— making a name for yourself in the underworld while unaffiliated. Your name did more harm than good when anyone knew it— not everyone so easily believed you had nothing to do with MI6, and those who knew the truth had the dual benefit of knowing you had no allies. You had to hang low or be shot before you could find your niche.

No one who offered protection wanted you without proof: completed contracts, witness accounts of your prowess— or the lack of witnesses altogether.

Little jobs, little rumors— you needed to be careful not to overestimate your abilities too— you were young, and you were not yet used to being on offense.

You’d been defending yourself your whole life.

John had told you the truth of his work.

You told John you were something else, also high-risk, but not in the same way as your truth— a finance lawyer.

Why finance? Dealing with money— if someone were to come after you, it’d make enough sense for you to explain away if you weren’t ready to tell John the truth.

Somehow, you didn’t think about what would happen if you were faced with someone who was coming after _him_.

&

_>Knock knock._

The text was a threat and John knew it.

He floored the gas on his Mustang and sped home.

He would never forgive himself if (Y/N) was forced into the company of his…_ associates._

Turns out though, he really didn't have to worry too much about it.

&

He was through the door in a flash, gun in hand.

"(Y/N)!?"

"In here!"

He must admit, the immediate response settled his nerves a bit.

He walked through the catastrophe of his home and a few dead bodies to find you tending to your wounds in the bathroom sink, wearing nothing but one of his white button-down tuxedo shirts.

"Hey. I uh, took care of it." You nodded your chin, indicating the disaster on the carpet through the door behind him.

"Right.."

His eyes wandered from you, to the blood on the walls, to the broken desk lamp, to Dog, wagging his tail without a care.

“Dog gave me a heads up on entry, and I’d already noted the Glock in the toaster oven, so it wasn’t too big of a deal, really… I’ve usually got my Beretta on me too, so…”

You knew you tended to ramble when nervous. You weren’t used to being nervous.

"You uh, might wanna know my real name about now, huh?"

He gave you a look.

"Right, yeah, okay. It's uh, you know, Bond. (Y/N) Bond."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Surprise?"

He glared, and crossed his arms for an explanation.

"I- uh, I had to be good... with all the people after me, who wanted to get to my father, he had no choice but to have me trained. He taught me to shoot, but he couldn't do it after that. Took me to his MI6 pals and had me learn from whoever had the leftover time.” You turned off the faucet.

“You know. I’ve been trying to stay out of it… came to the States when they were putting too much pressure on _for Queen and country. _I was never that into it. Just wanted to keep my dad safe. Myself safe… ‘m not really good at much else though— ‘m restless too, ‘nd I mean, everyone needs some cash, and I have the connections, so I’ve been… you know, a little…”

Your breathing was stutters and gasps. Your eyes fall to your hands in the mirror, dripping into the sink.

“I never told him. And you, I— I didn’t want, I shouldn’t have— you shouldn’t have to deal with me being involved, a- and I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know.. I didn’t want you to _have_ to know; I wanted you to think… that I wasn’t… that I wasn’t just another bad thing… from that part of your world— that, you wanted to escape. You would have wanted— you wouldn’t have wanted me anymore…”

He sighed.

"I really should've noticed this..."

"No, don't. Don't do that.” Your eyes locked through the mirror. “My expertise is in acting, John. I mean, the kidnappings alone… it’s—no, well I— I’ve talked my way out of a lot of shit growing up, okay; I know exactly how to make it look like I'm not who I say I am. I didn't want you to know, so you didn't."

"Am I a mark, then? Who is it who wants me dead this time?" He ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes on a weary exhale.

You looked down again, muttering. "You're not a mark.."

He opened one eye. "Oh?"

"I wanted to know the man behind the myth. You know my father—I was wondering if you were the same."

"And?"

"And then I got attached."

He says nothing. 

"John!" You pull at your hair and make a growling noise of frustration and anguish. "I don't know how to do this! I don't know how to be the kind of person that gets attached to another person without a payout or- or a purpose, but, but _you_ and—" You choke on your words. You don't meet his eyes. You mumble, _"I love you..."_ and his face shows genuine surprise. You panic, backtrack.

“I- It was an accident! I- I didn’t mean to meet you… or lo-“ You cut off. Swallowed. "I mean, you probably hate me now and that's fine I guess, but please believe me? I wouldn't still be around if I didn't... want you.."

It was clear he didn’t know what to say. You grabbed for a hand towel, missed, shook it off, and turned around.

"I'll leave, it's okay, I'm- I'll just go now—"

His arm shot out to your wrist as you tried to pass him.

"Don't go."

He weakly tugged at you, and you caved easy, curling yourself into the safety of his arms. You wrapped yourself around his waist and buried your face in his chest, breathing in what escalated to dry sobs. He cradled himself around you and kissed the top of your head.

"It's okay. We're okay."

"Yeah?" Your voice was muffled by his shirt.

"Yeah," you could feel the rumble of his voice in his throat, and it settled you. Grounded you. Made you feel back on equal ground—except now he knew it too. That he didn't have to worry about you dying so easy on him. That you could watch his back too. You were dangerous. He wasn't alone.

**Author's Note:**

> i have more bond fics & wick fics in progress, they're just taking longer than these drabbles and i'm slow as fuck. so tbd.


End file.
